Earth Called by P. C. Cast

Author:P. C. Cast
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: St. Martin's Publishing Group

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The next morning, not long after dawn pinkened the eastern sky, Tulpar and Dove came to O’Bryan’s campsite. He’d already taken down his tent, which Nik would pack for him. All he was carrying with him was a small bedroll and waterskin, his crossbow, and a large cache of arrows. His stomach felt tight and strange, so he’d broken his fast with dry bread and some bison jerky. He sat on a stump, murmuring soft reassurances to Cubby, who curled sleepily against his chest.

“Good morning, O’Bryan.” Dove’s voice was as soft as the blushing sky.

He stood and lifted the bedroll, hooking the arrow quiver over his shoulder and securing his crossbow’s leather strap across his back. “Good morning, Dove and Tulpar.” The horses intrigued him, and O’Bryan couldn’t help but stroke Tulpar’s golden neck.

“The Riders are ready to depart. Through Tulpar’s eyes I see that you are, too. Shall we go?” Dove asked.

“Yes, but I’ll need to return Cubby to Mariah first.”

Dove smiled at the little wolverine. “If you allow it, Tulpar and I will return your boy to his family. That way he can be with you for a little longer.”

O’Bryan lifted the sleepy baby and looked into his eyes. “Dove is going to take you back to Mariah and the pups. Okay?”

Cubby grunted and wriggled his little body enthusiastically.

O’Bryan looked up at Dove to see that she and Tulpar were studying him with open curiosity. “Oh, Mari found out last night that Cubby can understand us. He spoke to Mari.” Even with the seriousness of his forthcoming mission, O’Bryan grinned.

“That is wonderful, though I am not surprised. It is obvious that Cubby adores you, and he seems quite intelligent,” said Dove. Tulpar snorted and Dove smiled. “He says that he likes Cubby’s color.”

O’Bryan tucked Cubby inside his shirt so that just his little head peeked out as he walked beside Tulpar and Dove. “Well, Tulpar, he won’t stay this color for long. He’ll turn dark like a wolverine.”

Tulpar snorted again and Dove laughed.

“What did he say?”

“Only that he hopes he will always smell like a canine. He says wolverines usually stink terribly,” Dove said.

“Well, I’ve been bathing him whenever we stop near a creek or stream,” said O’Bryan. “I’ve been aware that his scent might get off-putting, but so far he just smells like a puppy to me.”

“That’s what he smells like to Tulpar as well, so whatever you’re doing is working,” said Dove.

“That’s good … that’s good.” O’Bryan thought that he should probably keep up a conversation with Dove. He liked her, thought Tulpar was magnificent, and usually would have enjoyed the opportunity to speak with both of them, but O’Bryan’s mind kept circling around and around replaying River’s words. He was going to have to kill Riders and their Companions—and that thought blotted out small talk as surely as snow clouds blotted out the sun.

It didn’t take long to reach the group that had gathered near the rear of the Herd’s temporary camp. River

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